


Rank and File

by TrishaCollins



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, How do you even graduate from the Garrison, THEY WERE ALL IN TWO STRIPE CADET UNIFORMS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 22:30:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15650205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrishaCollins/pseuds/TrishaCollins
Summary: Graduation has been halted for the duration of the Galra invasion. James and the other MFE pilots are stuck as cadets. Senior, sure, but on a military base rank is sometimes a boon and other times...well. If James had a nickle for every time someone took issue with his boot shine during the invasion, he'd have a lot of useless currency. Spoilers for season seven!





	Rank and File

There was an old saying he knew, one that ground down his nerves and seemed to be the general school of thought at the Garrison. Rank had its privileges. 

With the graduation process halted by an alien invasion, his ‘rank’ hadn’t changed. His responsibilities had, he risked his life more than most of the top brass ever would. 

But he was a cadet. That was all he was. Senior cadet maybe, but still a cadet. The lowest man on the totem pole. 

Kinkade was looking at him instead of at the officer giving them a dressing down for how sloppy their uniforms were. The general alarm had sounded, they had been rushing for the hanger. 

He locked his jaw and made himself stare past the man, catching Rizavi’s eye when she paused at the junction. 

He flicked his eyes to indicate that she should keep going, no sense in her getting in trouble with them. 

She grimaced in sympathy, but kept going.

The alarm was still blaring, his comm was humming, and this bastard just had to make his pants tight by taking his lack of purpose out on a couple of cadets. 

“Griffin, Kinkade!” Holt’s voice was sharp, and somewhat baffled. “We need you in the air. Leifsdottir and Rizavi are already in the cockpit.”

The officer swung around, clearly intending to give someone else a piece of their mind, and he saw the moment that it registered that he was talking to one of the highest ranked people in the building. “Sir!”

“Sorry, sir.” He ground out, fixing his collar. “Kinkade and I were off shift.”

Holt glanced between them, then at the officer and scowled. “Go. You I’ll deal with later.”

He gave a short, sharp nod and motioned for Kinkade to follow, not bothering to slow down as they raced for the hanger. 

It was just another annoyed mark on the wall, as far as he was concerned. 

*~*~*

“What bug was up his butt?” Rizavi asked, slamming her tray on the table between them.

He soaked up some of his gravy with a piece of bread, eying her sloppy plate. It was just calories at this point. The Altean tech burned a lot, and taste stopped mattering. Sam had noted it and made some concerned noises when they were averaging dropping between a pound and eight after every op. It couldn’t be marked as just water weight, and they were always starving after the missions were over. 

Rizavi pulled her tray closer to herself and eyed him, tearing off a chunk of her bread and putting it in the unnamed brown liquid that he was choosing to believe was gravy. 

It could be pudding. He wasn’t sure. It tasted vaguely meaty. 

“My shirt wasn’t tucked in.” He growled, shoving another chunk of bread into his mouth. 

“Fuckers.” Rizavi muttered. “We could fly circles around them. We have.”

“We’re just cadets.” He replied, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone. “The brass. Most of them.” Holt and Iverson were supportive, and would step in if they caught any of the brass or officers abusing their rank, but Iverson and Holt were the outliers. 

Rizavi huffed in response, angry, bitter. Clearly just as annoyed by the complete lack of respect as he was. 

But they left it there, and when Kinkade joined them with his own double ration of slop they didn’t talk about it any further. Talking to Leifsdottir about it would only get stats and probability, but Kinkade was a steady sort of presence that was honestly a relief most times, unless he wanted to be angry.

And sometimes, he really, really wanted to be angry. 

*~*~*~

“Griffin! A moment.” Iverson’s voice cut through the den of the chatter. 

He stepped out of the group of senior cadets – he didn’t really fit there, none of the MFE pilots did, but he fit with the officers less – turning away from them and striding towards Iverson, pausing with a brief “sir” before he fell into step behind him.

“Holt tells me you’ve been having some problems.” Iverson said, conversational. 

“It’s nothing we can’t handle, sir.” He tucked his hands behind his back, trying to avoid grinding his teeth. Iverson might only have one working eye, but the man was sharp. He would see it.

“Huh. Holt’s not one for making things up in my experience.” Iverson muttered, stopping at one of the windows. “We’ve put you in an awkward spot.”

He huffed, then squeezed his eyes shut. 

“It’s not much of a salve for bruised tempers, is it? The decision was made before we could block it, and the Admiral…well.” The words were as much of an apology as he felt like he was going to get. 

“She’s operating out of an obsolete rule book.” He forced himself to relax. “We knew that getting into this. That we were opening a new book. There’s nobody else left that can come close to doing what we do.”

Iverson grunted, then sighed. “It doesn’t make it easier.”

“No.” He agreed, staring out at the odd purple sky. 

“If I could promote the lot of you I would.” 

Which also didn’t really help the problem. “The only officers left are the ones who wouldn’t have been out there anyway.” He said, slow. “The admin staff the admiral brought. Lower level engineers. Not pilots.” He liked most of the engineers. They fell under Holt and didn’t listen to the admiral that well. Which was bad for her, but good for the MFEs. He imagined if more of the pilots had survived the initial assault he might have quickly been unseated from the prototype. But they hadn’t, and he felt guilty for being a little bit glad.

The MFEs had given him a purpose and a task. He would have hated being side lined so a more experienced pilot could take over. 

Iverson’s hand landed briefly on his shoulder, giving it a hard squeeze. “Let me know if anyone is harassing you.”

“Yes, sir.” He swallowed back the lump in his throat. “Maybe talk to the mess to see if they can put labels on the food?”

Iverson chuckled. “Not sure I want to know what some of that is. But I’ll mention it the next staff meeting. You getting enough? Holt said that you four were experiencing weight issues.”

“It’s stabilized. He found us energy bars to keep in our kit. They don’t taste like anything, but they make the weight loss taper off to acceptable levels. Leifsdottir is still a stick, but she’s putting on muscle again.”

“Good. Can’t risk our best pilots starving to death.” 

He made himself laugh, twisting his wrist. “All told, sir, I would rather not.” He’d seen too many people who had come frighteningly close to starving to death. He tried not to think about the bodies he’d seen as people. 

“We will get through this, son.” Iverson nodded to him sharply. “Dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir.” He saluted, and Iverson left, but he lingered at the window for a little while longer, watching the sun set through the barrier.

**Author's Note:**

> So these guys came out of nowhere, but I loved them. Genuinely and completely. YOU ARE ALL WONDERFUL DARLINGS. Entirely unbetad because I am still awake and screaming.


End file.
